Page 153 of Endgame
Chin dipped, I stare up at him and flutter my lashes. It always gets him hard, this shy look I’m giving him. “I was going to search for you.”
My knees buckle at the sound of his throaty groan. He kisses me, long and hard, before pulling back.
“You had your doubts. I understand.” With his free hand, he reaches beneath his shirt I’m wearing. He splays his hand on my stomach, where my skin prickles for him. It’s his way of showing me just how much he owns me. “You’ll see soon that …”
His fingers slide lower, beneath my panties. I grab his arm for balance when he pushes his middle finger into my pussy.
“Christ, you’re drenched.” His words are crude, his touch devoted. As he rubs me, I’m seeing stars, gasping for air. “Is that for me?”
“Yes,” I whimper, grinding on his finger. Trying to ride it like it’s his cock. I can’t stand how much I want it.
“Such a whore for your husband.” His face stays blank, but his fingers curl and stroke with intent.
He wants me.
“I am. You were saying that I’ll see something.” My voice is breath. Barely a sound. “See what?”
“You’ll see that you can count on me.” Everett pulls his finger out, using my wetness against me. Slow, gentle, circular caresses over my clit. That tease of a touch isn’t nearly enough. “That you can trust that I’ll always be there for you.”
“But you weren’t.” Though I have a sneaking suspicion, I still ask, “Where were you?”
Questioning him about anything is dangerous. He’s in a mood. A dark, sensual one. He has my life in his literal hands, squeezing my throat without mercy.
I don’t back down. “Why weren’t you here, punishing me?”
“Another man laid his hands on you, Aurora.” Black pushes out the gray of his eyes. “He hit you.”
The fact that he saysanother manand notyour fatherdoesn’t go unnoticed.
He gets it, I think. That though these monsters brought me up, I’m nothing like them.
He might’ve had doubts before. They aren’t there anymore. Vanished.
I see it in his eyes. They aren’t shuttered.
He’s opened the blinds for me.
I’ve never felt this kind of all-consuming warmth in my life.
This is whathomecomingmeans.
“And?” I press closer to him, aching for more. Begging for him, with my thighs clenched and my hands on his neck.
“No one touches my wife.” One pull, and my panties are torn. Clutched in his large hand, where I can see them. “No one looks at you the wrong way and gets away with it.”
My husband is a depraved, untethered man. He proves it by batting one of my hands off his neck and pressing my panties to his nose. Inhaling the scent of my pussy into his lungs.
“Now be a good fucking girl.” The feral glare he gives me as he pockets my panties sends ice racing up my spine. “Take your punishment.”
“I was already punished.” I twist my head as much as his grip on my throat permits, giving him a closer view of my bruised cheek.
Begging him, in my own way, to take that pain away and replace it with his.
A low, ominous grumble reverberates in his chest. His nostrils flare.
He’s possessive. More than he’s ever been.
This is what I’ve needed. His anger wrapping around me like a warm blanket. A million shields.
